


And Only the Snow Can Begin to Explain

by burn_me_down



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Brotherhood, Cuddling, Gen, Hurt Clay Spenser, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Team as Family, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down/pseuds/burn_me_down
Summary: Not long after joining Bravo, Clay falls through ice into a river, leaving his new team scrambling to keep him alive in extreme conditions.





	And Only the Snow Can Begin to Explain

**Author's Note:**

> This was written pretty much entirely as an apology for that last story. It’s set ambiguously at some point in season 1, before Clay had fully settled in as a member of Bravo Team.
> 
> Title from _anyone lived in a pretty how town_ by e. e. cummings.

Even through Jason’s snow goggles, the reflected sunlight off the sea of white powder is damn near blinding.

The snow is fresh, unpacked and dry, the sort that squeaks beneath your boots like corn starch, meaning that there’s no real way to avoid sinking deeply into it with each step. As Jason trudges along, squinting against the glare, every scant inch of exposed skin stinging from contact with the frigid wind, he makes a mental note to request snowshoes the next time they get sent out in these conditions.

Overhead, the sky is a deep, vivid winter blue, vast and broken only by a distant cloudbank at the far horizon. The sun has begun its descent toward the jagged line of high peaks to the west, but its light is still bright and brassy and utterly devoid of warmth.

As a Tier One team, Bravo is trained and equipped and expected to handle the harshest environments and conditions; even this sort of bitter cold should barely faze them, and a good ten hours into their mission, they’re still holding up as well as could be expected. Physically, anyway. Morale is probably a different story.

The members of Bravo Team are currently on their way back from what feels like an incredibly pointless surveillance mission in which they spent half a day perched atop a low peak, watching a frozen airfield where absolutely nothing interesting happened, unless you count the brief but prolific snowstorm that blew over around noon.

The miserable weather paired with the sense of futility has left everyone a bit snippy, especially Sonny, who as usual is aiming his annoyance at their rookie. Thus far Spenser’s responses have been surprisingly subdued, but Jason figures it’s only a matter of time before the notoriously mouthy kid starts snapping back.

Partly to try to head that conflict off, and partly just because Spenser currently holds the lowest position on the totem pole, Jason has given him the job of breaking a trail through the fresh-fallen powder on their single-file trek back down the narrow, winding valley toward exfil. Said valley eventually opens up on a plain that will serve as the LZ for their exfil helo, but at this rate of travel, they’re still probably a good two hours out, at least.

Spenser’s got his head down and is trudging forward with the unbending resolve of the young and very stubborn. Despite the drudgery of wading through the unbroken knee-deep snow, he’s making good time and has managed to put some distance between himself and Jason, who is second in line, serving as a human barrier between Spenser and Sonny.

Jason is about to call out to the kid, suggest he slow down a little before he wears himself out, when it happens.

There’s a sudden cracking sound, sharp as a rifle shot, and then Spenser is just gone.

Jason’s first thought is _lake._

It only takes a fraction of an instant for his brain to catch up to the reality of the terrain they’re currently in and amend that to _river._

Which is worse. Rivers, especially mountain rivers, tend to have currents.

Everything seems to slow down as Jason evaluates the situation, trying to estimate the river’s likely width and path, then use those calculations to get close without following Spenser into the water. He ends up coming in from the left, throwing himself flat and scuttling forward, scooping powder out of the way as he goes, until he reaches the edge of the jagged hole in the hidden ice.

The dark water rushing past confirms Jason’s worst fears.

That current will drag Spenser downstream, beneath both the ice and the several feet of snow that covers it. They’ll never be able to find him. Not before he drowns; probably not even after. God only knows where his body will end up lodging.

The reality cuts deeper than the cold. This is exactly the outcome Jason feared when Ray talked him into drafting the promising, overconfident kid with the chip on his shoulder, but as it turns out, this isn’t even Clay’s fault at all. It’s just luck. Pure, stupid bad luck that he stepped on a patch of thin ice, like maybe a spot where a spring comes in, weakening the ice over the otherwise solidly frozen river.

All this passes through Jason’s head in a matter of seconds - and then he flicks his eyes across the scene again and spots the barely visible gloved fingers clinging to the edge of the ice, and everything about the situation instantly shifts.

Spenser is still within reach. He hasn’t been able to pull himself out or even get his head back above the water, but he’s hanging on - and if he’s hanging on, then they can still save him.

Heart thrumming with urgency, Jason worms forward, as close to the edge as he dares, and then he plunges his arms into the swift, frigid water.

He doesn’t even feel the bone-numbing cold at first, not until after the icy liquid has made its way inside his multi-layered gloves and the sleeves of his thick coat. The winter gear buys him enough time that he’s able to fish around, locate Spenser’s wrists, get a firm grip on them and pull upward, shuffling backward through the snow, trying to get Clay out of the water.

Jason’s hands finally go numb just as Spenser starts to emerge from the river, but he forces strength into his fingers, hanging on tight anyway. Hands grab his ankles, pulling him back, helping drag him and Clay back away from the perilous edge of the too-thin ice that nearly took their new team member from them.

Once Jason is sure they’re back on solid ground, he turns loose of Spenser and takes the time to truly look at him.

Clay’s eyes are closed. His lips are purplish, his skin the brittle, fragile white of porcelain. Jason glances around for Trent, finds him already rushing to Spenser’s side, skidding to his knees in a spray of powder-dry snow, tugging off one glove with his teeth so he can check for a pulse.

“Is he breathing?” Ray asks, calm but with an undercurrent of urgency. “Trent?”

For a moment Trent ignores him, face set and focused as he fumbles to press his fingers harder into Clay’s carotid.

“Goddammit, kid, come on,” Sonny mutters, in a tone that would probably sound like pure annoyance to anyone who didn’t know him well enough to hear the concern hiding underneath.

Before Trent can get around to responding to the rest of the team’s hovering worry, Spenser himself provides an answer by shuddering, gasping in a ragged breath, and then ineffectually struggling to open his frozen-shut eyes.

His breathing is rough and much too rapid, but he doesn’t cough. Despite the brutal shock of being immersed in frigid water, he must have somehow managed to hold his breath the entire time he was under.

They got him out of the river and his heart is still beating, but that doesn’t mean Clay is out of the woods. Not even close.

He’s sopping wet in a dangerously cold environment, his clothing already beginning to freeze, and has just endured one hell of a shock to his system. If they move him too much, warm him up too fast, add any sort of stress whatsoever, he could go into cardiac arrest - and out here, this far from any sort of medical facility, there probably wouldn’t be a whole lot they could do about it.

On the other hand, it’s not like they can get away with _not_ moving him. If they leave him lying here in the snow, he’ll die of hypothermia, and sooner rather than later.

The LZ is two hours away on foot. Can they even keep Clay alive for that long?

“Trent, talk to me,” Jason says.

Without looking up from working to peel the wet clothing and gear off a now silent, barely responsive Spenser, Trent responds, “Your fingertips are gonna get frostbitten. Take off your wet gear, try to replace it with dry, see if you can get your hands warmed up.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly what Jason meant, but it also isn’t wrong. Slowed by numb, unresponsive fingers, he starts trying to peel off his wet gloves and coat. With Ray already occupied helping Trent, Sonny sidles over to assist their team leader. Once the wet gear has been removed, Bravo Three helps Jason dig a fresh set of gloves out of his pack, and then peels off his own outer layer to replace Jason’s coat.

Once Jason is dry and has his hands tucked securely under his armpits to hopefully start thawing, he asks with more specificity, “Can we get Spenser to the LZ?”

Trent starts shaking his head almost before Jason can finish asking the question. “No way he’ll make it that far unless we get his core temp up first. We need shelter from the wind, and we need to get him out of the snow.”

Jason looks around at the narrow valley, the barren, rocky peaks surrounding it. He hasn’t seen a tree or a bush since they landed. “Any ideas?” He asks the group at large.

“Cave?” Sonny suggests.

Given the terrain and conditions, it’s as good an idea as any. And right now, it might be Spenser’s only chance of surviving the day.

After Trent and Ray finish efficiently stripping off the soaked clothing, they wrap Clay’s motionless form in dry blankets, adding a tarp over top to try to keep the wind out. The kid is so pale and still that Jason keeps itching to move forward and personally check on his pulse and breathing. He forces himself to hang back, let his tingling, burning fingertips continue to thaw, and trust that Trent has things under control.

They pick what looks like the most promising section of the mountainside, cave-wise, and then get moving. Jason isn’t allowed to help carry Clay, because Trent is apparently still concerned about his hands and wants him to keep them tucked under his armpits. Trent and Ray end up using the tarp to carry Spenser, keeping him horizontal, jostling him as little as they can manage, basically doing everything within their power to minimize the odds that his heart will suddenly stop.

As they trudge toward what they can only hope will be shelter, Jason tries to call in to HAVOC to report the situation, huffing in frustration when all he can hear in return is jumbled fragments of indistinct voices. Comms worked great from the peak where they were doing surveillance; much less so down here in the valley. He goes ahead and reports what happened anyway, just on the off chance that HAVOC can hear him even though he can’t hear them, and finally receives an intelligible _“Copy, Bravo One”_ in response.

It takes a bit longer than any conscious member of Bravo would like, but ultimately they do find a cave: empty, its mouth facing away from the wind, and just large enough to comfortably fit all six of them.

Spenser is still about as pale as the snow outside, still violet-tinged and motionless, but he’s breathing and has a weak but steady pulse.

As soon as they get him situated right in the middle of their newfound shelter, Trent tears into his supplies and starts pulling out bags of fluids, lengths of IV tubing, duct tape, plastic bags. That done, he extracts the heat packs from two MREs.

“What’re you doin’?” Sonny asks, watching in bewilderment.

Trent takes a minute to answer, focused on putting the heat packs in a plastic bag, activating them, situating coils of tubing between them. “Warming IV fluids,” he says finally. “Got to get the kid’s temp up ASAP or he’s not gonna make it.”

Sonny nods quietly, scratching at his beard, pointedly not looking at the silent, ashen form of the stubborn, overconfident rookie he so often clashes with.

Once Trent is apparently satisfied with the success of his makeshift saline heating system, he gets an IV going. Meanwhile, Ray situates more heat packs against Spenser’s neck, groin and chest wall, making sure there’s a layer of fabric between them and Clay’s bare skin so he won’t get burned. Once that’s all done, once the IV and heat packs are in place, they zip him into a sleeping bag and add blankets over the top for good measure.

Jason sits back, watches, and experimentally flexes his hands. There’s still a little burning and tingling in his fingertips, but he doesn’t think there’s likely to be any long-term damage. That’s probably thanks to Trent, even while busy trying to save Clay’s life, having had the presence of mind to remind Jason to get those wet gloves off.

After that, there’s not a whole lot to do but wait.

Using fuel they brought with them, they build a small fire and make a thermos of strong, sweet hot chocolate, just in case Clay regains consciousness and is able to swallow without choking, but for a long time his eyelashes don’t even so much as flutter.

After a while, Trent catches Sonny sneaking glances at Spenser’s pale face and tells him reassuringly, “His core temperature is starting to rise, and his heart rate is holding steady. That’s a good sign.”

Sonny nods, clears his throat and says gruffly, “Reckon it’d be a shame to have to start all over with a new rookie after we finally just about got this one house-broke.”

For the first time in a while, Jason feels a thread of real hope that Quinn will find a way to comfortably coexist with his new teammate, because as hard as Sonny is trying to pretend that he doesn’t care, it’s obvious to anyone who knows him well that he’s worried.

The two men will maybe - hell, probably - never be friends, but they don’t have to be. Sonny and Nate were never particularly close, but they worked well together in the field. Jason would never have drafted Clay if he hadn’t believed there was a way for each existing member of Bravo to build that sort of effective working relationship with him as well. Yes, even Sonny.

A good long while later, Spenser finally warms back up enough for his eyelids to flutter. He’s barely coherent at first, mumbling and confused. Despite being weak as a kitten, he keeps trying to get his hands under him so he can push himself up, and whines petulantly every time Ray puts a hand on his chest to hold him down.

“Bravo Six, sit _still,_ dammit,” Jason finally snaps at him.

Spenser stops moving, blinking vaguely in Jason’s direction. “Boss?”

“Yeah, kid, it’s me. Stay put.” Jason leans forward, lifts Clay’s head, helps him take a couple sips of lukewarm hot chocolate.

Once Spenser is done drinking, his head falls back and he has to visibly struggle to keep his eyes open. “...Happened?” He whispers vaguely.

“You fell through ice into a river, and now you’ve got hypothermia.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, and shivers a little, like he’s just remembered he’s supposed to be cold. A couple more blinks and then he’s out again, but his color is better, breathing more deep and steady. He looks more like he’s asleep and less like he’s dying.

Outside the cave, a faint, rapidly fading dusk is casting violet shadows across the snow, and stars are starting to wink into the great expanse of the darkening sky. Despite the small fire and all the cold-weather gear they’re all wearing, it’s easy to tell that the temperature is dropping.

“How soon can we move him to exfil?” Jason asks Trent, sotto voce.

Trent hesitates, blows out a misty breath. “I’m not comfortable trying it until daylight, at least. It’s too damn cold out there and only getting colder, and while he is improving, his condition is still pretty fragile.”

Well, that settles it. Looks like they’re staying the night.

Sonny is not gonna love this, but he’ll just have to suck it up.

Clay, in his sleeping bag with his little stash of heat packs, stays put in the middle of the cave. Everyone else strips off their outer gear, and then they zip together the rest of the sleeping bags, throw the blankets on top, and basically just form a very cozy dog pile with the kid at the center. Due to the lack of trees and shrubs, there’s no extra fuel available for the fire, so they let it die.

It takes a while to get situated. There seem to be more knees and elbows than should technically be possible. Brock, who is closest to Jason, has elbows that feel like they’re made out of some sort of bladed weapons. Sonny, from the far side of the pile, keeps complaining about getting stuck in the frozen wilderness because of a dumbass kid who doesn’t have the good sense God gave an ungifted armadillo. Jason retaliates by assigning Sonny first watch, which doesn’t stop the grumbling but does at least reduce its volume somewhat.

Eventually, their combined body heat starts to stave off the cold. By the time Jason falls asleep, he’s comfortable, as much as he can be while lying on hard stone, and can even more or less feel his toes again.

The situation isn’t ideal, but all his guys are here and safe and breathing. That will have to do for now.

-

Hayes’s sitrep, when it comes, is choppy and barely intelligible, his voice crackling away into static every few syllables. Even so, Eric manages to get the gist: Bravo Six fell through ice into a river. They’re seeking shelter to try to get him warmed back up.

After that, there’s nothing.

Darkness falls. The only logical conclusion is that Bravo has chosen to hunker down for the night, try to get Spenser stabilized before moving him, and comms don’t work at all from their current location.

For all that Eric is very well aware of what’s most likely happening, it’s hard not to worry a little about his guys anyway. Which is probably why, when support goes out looking for them at dawn the next morning, Blackburn tags along.

Thanks to Hayes’s report, they’re aware of the iced-over river beneath the snow and make sure to stay well away from it during their trek up the valley from the LZ. It doesn’t turn out to be very difficult to find the misplaced operators; there was some wind during the night but no new snowfall, so once they get close, the trail Bravo broke through the powder is easy enough to follow right back up to the cave.

Once they reach said cave, Blackburn stops in the doorway and just stares for a minute.

His team of elite Tier One operators appear to have melded together into some sort of large, amorphous mass on the cave floor.

Brock, who must be on watch as he’s the only one currently awake and visible, extracts his arm from the blankets to give a friendly wave. “Hey, Eric.”

With a slight delay, other heads start popping up, blinking sleepily against the biting chill and the bright morning sunlight that has just started fully spilling over the tops of the peaks, setting the snow in the valley alight.

The last one to appear is Spenser, groggier than the others and with a truly impressive case of bedhead. He rubs at his eyes with both fists like a toddler, squints up at Blackburn, and asks in an only slightly slurred voice, “Can we go home now?”

“Coulda gone home yesterday if we hadn’t had to deal with your frozen ass,” Sonny complains, attempting to untangle himself from Trent, who grins shamelessly and throws his arms around him, ignoring the threatening growl.

Under normal circumstances, Spenser would have an immediate comeback for that, snappy and twice as cutting. Right now he must still be pretty out of it, because he just blinks at the stone ceiling for a minute and then mumbles, “Sorry.”

It seems to catch Sonny off guard. He opens and closes his mouth, and then he looks almost guilty. “Well,” he says, making another futile attempt to escape from Trent, who appears to have sprouted several more limbs to hang onto him, “reckon it ain’t like you done it on purpose.”

Eric catches Jason’s eye, and they share a quiet grin.

Maybe Sonny and the rookie will figure things out after all. Eventually.

Despite the cold biting at his fingertips and nose, Eric’s chest is full of warmth. “Time to go home, gentlemen,” he announces.

And if he subtly snaps a quick picture before his team of elite operators manage to extricate themselves from their cozy and strangely adorable puppy pile, well, none of them need to know about it.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve got a bunch of ideas but absolutely no clue which of them I should write next. Here are a couple possibilities y’all could help me choose between:
> 
> 1) _But If You Close Your Eyes._ Summary: “While waiting for rescue, Trent spends 53 hours fighting to keep himself and a critically injured Clay alive. It’s even less fun than it sounds, and in the aftermath, Trent’s life unexpectedly starts to spiral out of control.”
> 
> 2) _No One to Blame._ Summary: “A mission goes bad, and Clay believes it’s his fault. When the team gets an unexpected shot at a do-over, Clay is determined to make sure they don’t fail this time. Even if it kills him.”


End file.
